


Communication, Baby

by wonthetrade



Series: my head's not bowed [9]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 World Cup of Hockey, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: The ladies are having the time of their lives at the World Cup of Hockey.Or: Steph's a flirt, Dani's so done with everything, Geno's the only one who gets Sid, Auston's just trying to adjust...and oh yes. Jack and Connor have a thing (Dylan and Noah despair).





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you got here by googling yourself or someone you know, turn back now.
> 
> Reminders:  
> *This takes place during the World Cup of Hockey 2016.  
> *This does account for everything created within GB canon up to October 2, 2016  
> *This does not necessarily account for everything actually canon up to October 2, 2016 aka: roster changes and therefore rooming situations.  
> *All trades occurring on or after June 25, 2016 have been shifted to summer 2017. Except Demers signing in Florida and maybe Latts. We’re not sure about the latter yet.  
> *YES WE PUT THEM IN THE SEMIFINALS. ARTISTIC LICENSE OKAY.

**Steph & Roman**

The game is _so_ fast. The thrill of it pounds through her, the knowledge that she can go one hundred percent and her partner will be right there with her.

It’s not that she’s been holding back in the NHL, not at all. But there have been times when she’s had to keep pace with everyone else and that pace just happened to be a smidge too slow for her.

Not so with this team, not so with Murray at her side. Each shift just seems to fly together and everyone is just so amazingly good that she cannot keep the dumb smile off her face.

“Is that smile for me?” Roman jokes as they pass each other in the neutral zone.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, old man?” Steph snorts, catching sight of Jack in her peripheral vision. She shifts accordingly and puts on a burst of speed, leaving him in her dust. “Try and catch up, okay?”

Roman sounds so indignant, howling, “Who are you calling old man?” as she cackles.

She doesn’t see him for another shift or two, but then there’s a loose puck in the corner and the two of them are battling it out, trying to get the puck free. “Where are your points, Jonesy?” She can pretty much see the shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s a shame you’re not following my example.”

His weight pins her to the boards and for a moment her mind considers another battle, no less heated, but with fewer clothes. Then, _ew._ Rinks are so gross and unsexy and not even Roman can change that.

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” she drawls, honey-sweet. “And I’ll rearrange that face until it’s not so pretty.” _There._ She kicks the puck away with her skate, right where Johnny’s waiting.

“Not the face!” he cries in mock outrage.

Aaron shakes his finger at her as they switch out. “No flirting with the enemy, Jonesy,”

Steph flutters her eyelashes. “Who, me?” Inspiration strikes and she gives him her biggest, brightest smile. “How about I flirt with you then, Eks?”

The bench absolutely erupts in catcalls. She’s not sure if he actually heard her over the din, but when he comes back to the bench he glances towards her and away, his face red beneath his beard.

He gets her back though, loudly proclaiming, “That’s my wifey!” after she comes off a particularly grueling shift. Steph nearly trips over her own skates laughing.

“I’m watching you, Ekblad!” Roman calls, skating by.

Steph beams at him. “That’s still not going to save you, old man!”

His look of outrage is _priceless_.

God, she loves this tournament.

 

**Stromer & Hanny**

Incessant buzzing wakes him from a rather excellent nap. Noah frowns and shifts despite the weight against his side. He reaches for his phone with a quiet groan that his bedmate echoes. He makes a quiet shushing noise and squints at the screen.

_this is weird_

_no seriously super weird_

_goddamn it hanny wtf_

_they’re on the same line_

_srly where r u_

_ur missing the weird_

_they’re being… friendly_

Noah blinks at the messages for a few moments, then groans. Right, World Cup of Hockey. And leave it to Stromer to type everything in an individual message.

It’s been like this all summer, random messages about the wedding - god the fucking _wedding_ \- about things Connor’s been saying about Jack, what she (probably accurately) calls pining… Noah would be upset if her commentary wasn’t also more than a bit hilarious.

 _wait. not friendly,_ the next message says, _but not stabby_

“What the fuck?” he whispers. Just in case he’d forgotten Stromer’s fucking weird.

“Make it stop.”

Noah laughs softly, kisses the fluffy head of blond hair sprawled across his chest. His hand slides down the bare skin of her back. “Jack’s game is on.”

She groans and buries her face in his shoulder. It makes Noah laugh to see her curl herself even tighter; make herself even smaller. “Go away.”

He kisses her head again, then her shoulder as he slips out from beneath her and hunts down boxers, maybe a t-shirt. He’s awake now and they’re going to need food in the near future. They’d had plans to be tourists in their own city, reminisce about their time at college. Turns out, they haven’t left his apartment.

Not that he’s _complaining_.

He turns on the TV, the channel already set to ESPN, and settles in. He’s liked the games so far, the speed of the young team, and while Jack hasn’t put up the pre-tournament points she’d chirped him about all summer, he thinks these first two games have shown the world that she wasn’t just a fluke choice.

And yes, okay, fine, he’s kind of hoping this tournament will get her to fucking deal with whatever’s going on between her and McDavid. He’d really like to win some money off of Stromer now that they’ve upped the ante. It’s not even about them hooking up anymore because that’s not the issue. It’s getting their goddamn shit together.

_davo’s got his happy face on. jesus. disgusting._

He thinks they must be getting different feeds. _Pics or it didn’t happen. ESPN’s interviewing Josi._

It takes a minute before Snapchat informs him Dylan Strome’s sent him a new Snap. He sighs as he pulls it up, then resists the urge to facepalm as he watches Jack pass to McDavid in warm ups and sees the way the little smile slips across his face as he snaps it in the net. He considers texting McDavid himself about whatever the fuck is going on with his face, but resists. Not like he’d be getting it before the game anyway.

 _Pathetic_ , he texts Stromer. _Think he could be any more obvious._

 _Yup_ . Noah hates the way he can picture her bright, shit-eating smile as she says it. _dude, i *trained* w. him. way worse._

_dude when u did the boxing vid? davo was super gross_

Jack, on the other hand, hasn’t said a thing. In fact, beyond the couple of weeks they spent training here - he thinks she’s left some shit in his spare room, like she owns the place - he hasn’t seen much of her. Nor heard hide, nor hare, of McDavid. Except once, out for dinner and Noah trying to tell her about his plans for this weekend, actually, and she’d been curled around her phone, texting The Next One himself.

_these hearteyes r dumb._

_You should reign him in, Stromer._

_i’m offended on behalf of canada._

Though, as it turns out, it’s not the worst line in the world. There are some hiccups, of course, passes between Gaudreau and McDavid that don’t really connect, but Noah had caught Jack’s interview about playing with McDavid, her quote about getting open and knowing if she does, he’ll get her the puck. It’s a fucking premonition and he watches a handful of shifts where the play works out exactly like that.

It’s kind of breathtaking.

_fuck. u tell anyone and i’ll kill you but ur gurl’s good._

_Likewise,_ Hanny writes back because he is, quite honestly, a bit at a loss. He doesn’t get it sometimes, the denial Jack seems to be so passionate about clinging to. It’s such damn good hockey and Noah can all but tell it’s because she’s stopped fucking thinking about everything else. This is Jack focused, on point, and if it weren’t for the fact that they’ve been friends too long and the woman sleeping in the next room, Hanny thinks this is the kind of hockey that would get him going.

As it is, it’s certainly the hockey that everyone and their cousin has predicted would be the result of the first two 2015 draft picks on the same line.

By midway through the second he is seriously into the game. It’s fast, he knew that going in, but it feels very different to see Gaudreau and Larkin streaking up the ice and embarrassing veteran players. It’s the click of his bedroom door opening that draws his attention to the woman rubbing at her eyes, sleep rumpled in a Beauts’ t-shirt and, from the looks of it, not much else.

“Still watching?” she asks around a yawn, yanking her hair up into a messy ponytail.

Noah leans back, laying his arm across the back of the couch in blatant invitation. “Jack and Connor are on the same line.”

Her nose wrinkles and Noah does not find it adorable. She’d murder him for thinking such a thing. She pads over to the couch and leans into him and he can’t stop himself from kissing her temple. Jesus, she makes him a mess.

“They’re good,” she murmurs, eyes darting over the screen and he definitely loves - god, he does too - watching the way she watches hockey. “Too bad she’s still fighting it.”

Noah hums noncommittally. He wonders how long that’ll last. “Stromer thinks it’ll be solved by the end of the tournament.”

“Could,” she allows. “If someone kicks Jack in the ass.”

“Not it,” he murmurs because he has done his fair share, thank you very much.

“Nah,” she says, tilts her head to kiss his jaw. “You’re in charge of food. You have no time for stubborn NHL players.”

“Only NWHL players?”

“You’re a sap, Noah Hanifin.” But she lets him kiss her anyway.

 

**Sid & Geno**

_Not understand me, my ass._

Geno laughs as he reads the text and sends back a long string of eyeless smiles. He won’t tell her he’d said it deliberately, that the media didn’t need to focus - _again_ \- on the fact that she hasn’t put up points in the one exhibition game she’s played so far. He’s been rolling his eyes so hard he’s given himself a headache.

 _Asshole,_ he gets back and his grin widens. _Everyone knows you speak English now, Geno._

That makes him smile again. He knows he’s famous for shuttling questions off to Sid. Honestly, she’s just better at it, finding the middle of the road answer when Geno would likely lose his temper. But he also knows he’s been more open to interviews, especially in the wake of the Cup and his reputation for avoiding soundbites like the plague.

_You understood me just fine the other day._

She’s not wrong. He’d woken up to discover she’d been scratched the second game of the USA back-to-back. He’s not telling anyone how grateful he is they’d done so because she needs the rest.

Of course, she would never see it that way. It seems now that he’s awake, he’s also being treated to some absolutely blistering commentary on Canada’s play. It runs the gamut, from penalties to missed shots to bad hits. Nothing she doesn’t normally comment on, he’s been beside her on the bench, but it feels different and a lot more lonely to have to read it instead of hear it.

_All okay, Sid. Russia beat you anyway._

_The way we’re playing you might._

Geno rolls his eyes and hits speed dial. “Team play fine, Sid.”

“Hello to you too,” Sid huffs, but Geno _knows_ her. He hears the frustration, likely directed at the team and definitely at herself.

He tuts at her. “This not Cup. Can lose.”

He has no idea how she manages to pack surprise, amusement and outrage into the sound he gets back. He grins.

“We _can’t_. Olympic champs, World champs… it’s our trophy to lose.”

“Not kick you out of Canada for bad hockey.” There’s silence. She hates any miniscule reference to Russia’s abysmal 2014 Olympic showing. “Is just US, yes? Not be so mean to other teams.”

“We’re shouldn’t be nice either,” she answers. Then, “GODDAMN IT WEBER.”

Geno huffs but rolls over to turn the television on, until his bleary eyes catch on the bright red that can only be Canada. He’s just in time for the replay of the hit and unlike her frustration, he can’t help but smile. “Is just Kesler. Weber can hit.”

“It’s a fucking vendetta penalty and you know it. JT did the same thing two minutes in.”

“Tavares smart.”

Her huff is definitely amused this time. “At least he didn’t get a penalty for it.”

Geno leans back, lets his yawn crack loud and wide over his face. For the next couple of plays, all he hears are the little sounds she makes, the gasps when it’s close, the grumbling when it’s not good. His eyes drift closed and he lets her do the commentary for him, the little murmurs about passes that don’t connect, the puck in the corner.

More than that, he hears the breath she releases when the Canadians score, then score again.

He kind of drifts off in it, in the reminder that he can tell the media whatever he wants, but it’s nothing on what he actually gets. He gets Sid like this, in his ear, nattering away, even if he only catches every second or third phrase. It feels like Pittsburgh, like having her beside him on the bench, his arm pressed against hers. He can’t wait to be back in their city, for the short time the World Cup is giving them, and then again in October, when the season starts anew.

It feels different now. _They_ feel different now. There’s a cemented certainty in his blood after winning the Cup. It really does feel like a matter of time now before Sid finally, _finally_ takes what she deserves and finds a life outside of hockey. Two Cups now. She’s proven she can do it and that she’s not a fluke.

Maybe, he thinks, it could be their year too, his and hers, finally ready to take that next step. He’s always waited, he will always wait for a woman like Sid, but he can’t help the way hope flares in his chest. It puts a smile on his face as he drifts off again, her voice a gorgeous comfort in his ear.

 

**Dani & Marcia**

_You have to do something about Sid._

Dani raises her eyebrow. That’s rich, coming from someone who’s watching the tournament from the comfort of Thunder Bay. _I’m just trying to keep my team from actually killing the Finns. I don’t have time to deal with Sid’s tantrums right now._

She hasn’t seen the first USA/Canada game, but she heard all about Sid’s behavior in the group chat, where both Jack and Steph had teased her about cross-checking _them_ in a game. The chirping then devolved into a debate over who would win in a fight, Sid or Jack.

 _because u would never fight Steph,_ Jack had written.

Steph’s response had been: _What do you mean? I’ll fight if I have to!_

 _steph no one here would fight u._ Which is entirely true. No one would have the heart to even try fighting Steph. It would be like kicking a kitten.

Dani’s phone blips again. _So that means you’re not dealing with the rookies._

She rolls her eyes so hard she probably sprains her eyeballs. _No. I’m too old for that nonsense. Let the others deal with it if they want._

_Gasp. You’re actually going to let the no-intervention policy slide?_

_In that case, yes. Because they could turn into Sid and Geno._

_Fuck that noise._

_Indeed._

 

**Auston**

She gets back to the hotel in Toronto after her first game at the ACC and blows about a breath when the door closes behind her. It’s all surreal, just to be on the ice with the likes of Jack and Steph on a regular basis, knowing she’ll be going up against a lot of bigger players in the coming weeks and she…

She was prepared for the NHL. She was sure of it. She still feels prepared, really, now that she’s played a few intense games against the likes of Hossa, Chara, Niederreiter and Zuccarello. Yet there’s still a flip in her stomach when she thinks about it. It’s something she still has to get used to.

She flops face first on her bed, exhausted, and groans when her phone chimes. She doesn’t care what advice is coming through now. Except when she does dig her phone from the pocket of her dress, it’s not any of her team, nor one of the women in the Girl Brigade Jack and Dylan had not been lying about.

_I guess you’re pretty good._

Auston snorts as she thumbs open her messages, smiles at the little fire emoji he’d been insistent be his contact “nickname” after getting drafted. Auston thinks it’s kind of dumb, but hasn’t had the heart to change it either. _Fuck you, I’m awesome._

_Eh. You’re keeping up._

She can feel the way the little smile curls up the corner of her mouth. _Eh? Throwing away your patriotism already?_

 _Fuck you_ . It comes back immediately and Auston feels the smile spread wider despite herself. _I’m not even in canada, asshole._

_On your yacht?_

_Fuck. Off._

Auston cackles. She misses him, dork that he is. He’s always been a solid friend, and as much as the friends-with-benefits had worked for international tournaments and the USNTDP, she likes that he’s her friend first.

_I heard you tried to steal your equipment bag._

Her face flames. She’s been getting shit from the team about that too. It’s not her fault she’s not used to the NHL and maybe it’s a little bit of being a control freak. _I also got a fucking assist tonight, asshole._ And then, because her stomach is still rolling. _It’s new_.

_Having people cater to your every need?_

The door slams open and Auston jumps.

“Matthews! If you think you can be anti-social after that game-”

Auston rolls her eyes. Jack leans against the doorframe, Steph and Ryan behind her. Steph is bouncing happily and honestly, Auston has no idea where she gets that stream of never-ending optimism. “What do you losers want?”

“Poutine,” Steph says emphatically. Jack nods enthusiastically, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face as Ryan rolls her eyes to the ceiling and mutters something under her breath.

She shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”

Steph blinks at her for a moment before Jack asks, “You’ve had it?”

“It’s okay, I guess?” Auston replies, a little weirded out by the scrutiny. “Dubois dragged us out in Buffalo.”

“It’s probably nothing like Canadian poutine,” Ryan offers with a resignation that makes Auston’s eyebrow creep up.

Steph claps her hands gleefully. “Excellent. _Carbs_.”

The growl of Auston’s stomach wholly agrees.

 _Going for poutine,_ she texts, even though Jack throws an arm around her shoulder as she moves through the door. It’s a hefty weight and makes texting awkward. _Later?_

_Already throwing me aside for women._

“Who the hell is little flame? Are you flirting with Johnny Hockey?” Jack asks, because she’s nosey and Auston has to think really hard about the effectiveness of their powerplay if she were to stomp on Jack’s feet.

She feels her cheeks flame, even as her face does something in the realm of disgust. All three of them burst out laughing. Traitors. “Steph’s already got flirting with teammates covered. Unless you want to talk about McDavid.”

“Who even are you, rookie?”

But both Steph and Ryan are sniggering. Auston feels vindicated.

 

**Hanny & Stromer**

Despite the Coyotes camp, Dylan creates time to watch Connor and company play Finland. It’s… insane, when she thinks about it, the speed of the team, watching each and every one of them blast up the ice.

Yet, it’s also the clearest picture of why Jack and Connor work, this time filmed under the all-seeing eye of the cameras.

 _jfc,_ she texts Hanifin, _r u watching? fucking ode to mceichel right here._

Her leg bounces as she waits for Noah’s reply, watches with a gasp as Murray makes another awesome save. They look good, is the thing, and Dylan’s not exactly immune to the power of the Finns. North America certainly isn’t having a problem.

 _LOL_ , she gets back. That’s it. For being as big of a gossip as she is, Hanny can be an abysmal texter. She rolls her eyes.

_theyre totally banging after this game._

_They’ve probably banged after every game. They’ve been banging since November._

The sound of the television increases and Dylan looks up just in time to see Connor slam into Jack, Auston right there with them. A powerplay goal. A nice one too.

_fuck if that doesn’t give u a hockey boner, ur not human_

_Thanks for that, Stromer._

She’s too busy watching the aftermath, the celly and the butt tap all over again. It’s tempting to text Connor himself, poke fun at the fact that everyone watching this shit can see how gone he is over his goddamn linemate of all people, and hands down the grumpiest woman Dylan’s ever met.

Her phone vibrates before she can. It’s Mitch’s and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. They’ve both been busy with development camp and she’s feeling the distance.

_did u see this?_

It’s a link to a tweet and Dylan opens it maybe a little more tentatively than she should. Its contents, however, make her drop her phone in amusement.

 **@THNRyanKennedy:** _Eichel from Matthews and McDavid. Team North America is basically fan fiction come to life._

It isn’t until she’s calmed that she leaps for her phone a thought flashing through her head. _omg r u reading fanfiction?_ Then, immediately after, _R U READING MCEICHEL FANFICTION?_

 _nah,_ she gets back. _were here 2. stromarner, gross_

_us?_

_yup. u listen 2 me in those. and ur an asshole. I’m a delight._

Dylan cackles again, loud and long. _yea, definitely fiction._

And then, because Mitch is both a shit and a sap, he writes, _eh. love u more this way._

She sends a kissing face and the red heart emoji back.

 

**Steph & Roman**

There’s the usual number of messages on his phone after the game, but Roman’s most amused by Steph’s running commentary.

_Word on social media is that you and Bellemare are buddies._

_Honestly. You had that shot._

_It’s so weird to see you hanging out by the blue line so much._

_YOU HAD THAT SHOT TOO WTF ROMAN._

_Moving a little slow there. Getting sleepy, old man?_

He grins and shakes his head. With anyone else, that amount of chirping would seriously piss him off, but it’s Steph. He could never be mad at her and it’s all in good fun anyway.

There isn’t much time to catch the North America/Russia game in between dinner and his bedtime, but he does keep track of the score and catches some of the play. And because no one ever accused him of being an angel, he fires off, _Your turnover?_ Before going to bed.

She finds him the next morning.

“ROMAN JOSI!”

He catches her without thinking, planting his feet so that they don’t go tumbling to the ground and wrapping his arms around her. Her scent wraps around him, magnolia blossoms and summertime, and it’s so familiar he can’t help but smile.

“Nice catch,” she laughs, and he’s a little put out that she thinks he would actually drop her.

“I’ll always catch you, Jonesy,” he promises, and there’s weight in those words he didn’t quite mean to give, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

For a moment her expression flickers, her eyes suddenly luminous, and his breath catches in his throat. But then she blinks and it’s gone, leaving Roman feeling like he’s missed something momentous.

Steph punches his shoulder and jumps down. “Don’t even think about using that charm on me, mister. All those messages and all I get is a jab at _my_ turnover?”

“All’s fair in tournaments and chirping,” he jokes. Given his sometimes fuzzy grasp of English, he’s pretty proud of that one.

“You think you’re cute,” is the flat response, but Steph’s smiling and that’s what he was going for anyway. It’s not like she’s the only Predator playing for another team - the Olympics and Webs come to mind - but there’s something incredibly off-putting about playing against Steph. It just doesn’t make sense. “Next time, more words, all right?”

Roman pretends to think it over. “I _suppose_.”

Jack Eichel calls out to her from across the room and Steph pops onto her tiptoes to give him a hug. “Right. I’ll see you later. Text me, all right?”

She bounds away and he can’t help but watch her go.

“Chewed out by the wife?” Leon asks, coming up beside him. “I think Zucs is still a little shell-shocked, she ran over him on her way over to you. And she shoved Z aside.”

“Something like that,” he laughs. “She’s a hurricane.”

“Something like that,” Leon echoes, giving him a strange look.

 

**Dani & Marcia**

_So I hear there are actual plans for a rookie intervention._

_How do you know this?_

_I have my sources._

Meaning Steph. Because while Marcia is no doubt enjoying her time with her family at home, she also loves being in the thick of things. It’s why she insists on going to the All-Star Game every year, and the Rangers’ organization is only too happy to oblige. Whenever the NHL brass makes noises about the team sending someone else, that player mysteriously ends up sick. She also loves knowing _everything_.

_And what does this intervention entail?_

_Forcing them to talk._

_Please don’t tell me they’re being shoved into a closet._

_Steph has more finesse than that._

Dani snorts. This is true. Marcia, on the other hand, would be all for the closet scenario, if only because it would make things more awkward and thus, entertaining.

But then again, Marcia’s actually a fan of the non-intervention policy because of said drama. It must come from growing up a Staal.

“Hey.” Henrik touches her wrist. “It’s time to go.”

“All right. Let me just send this message.” _Well. I hope it works out._

_We’ll see! ;P_

“The girls?” he asks as they make their way out. She nods and he shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “Is there anything you need to do?” He knows her better than anyone in the world, and therefore knows exactly that these women mean to her and the lengths she will go for them.

Even if there is a no-intervention policy.

She shrugs. “We’ll see.”

 

**Ekblad**

Aaron Ekblad does not sign up for the World Cup to be in the middle of this cesspool of drama. But as Steph bounces up to him in the hallway of their Toronto hotel, Aaron knows he’s not getting out of this unscathed. All because he had the not-so-misfortune of befriending Connor before he was McJesus.

Aaron despairs.

“Hubby!” Steph chirps, beaming from ear to ear. “Come on, you and I have to go and wrangle our children.”

His brain screeches to a halt and he blinks at her, dumbfounded. He’s gone along with a hell of a lot of Steph’s schemes since camp, but this is...what? “What?”

“Connor and Jack,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and yes, now that he thinks about it, it actually is. Because Steph is to Jack what he is to Connor and if that means they have to deal with their dumb shit, well…

Aaron’s seen his fair share of ridiculousness in the last few weeks. He’s on Team bloody North America, surrounded by the weird bromance that is Mo and Johnny, had the NHL’s princess flirting with him despite the glares from her Swiss bodyguard and, of course, watched Connor thrive and mope depending on Eichel’s mood.

“What do you need me to do?”

Her smile gets even bigger, something he didn’t think was possible. It’s kind of blinding and if it was any other woman, he wouldn’t even think twice about flirting. Serious flirting, not their playful back-and-forth. But Josi is so clearly hers…

Exactly the way Connor is Jack’s. So. He’ll do what he can.

Steph herds him towards the elevator. “We just need to get him to my room. Sid, Segs, and Carey will do the rest.”

He whistles. “Pulling out the big guns.”

“They need it.” She rolls her eyes. “I love Saader, but he can’t even corner Jack. We _need_ them. So, we’ll drag him out of your room, where I have it on good authority he’s moping.”

“That’s all he’s been doing when we’re not playing or practicing,” Aaron sighs. The sad eyes he turns on Jack when she’s not looking are ridiculous. It turns out that a broken collarbone has nothing on a mildly heartbroken Connor McDavid. “How are we supposed to get him out?”

“You tell me, you’re his buddy.”

Aaron runs through a few scenarios in his head and picks the most likely to get him out of bed. Opening the door, he sticks his head in. “Hey, Davo. Let’s get some gummy bears.” Behind him, Steph chokes and he pokes her side.

“Eks, I appreciate it, but…”

“Gummy bears, Davo,” he insists, knowing that they’d have to pass Steph and Jack’s room to get to the vending machine.

There’s a sigh, and then creaking as he gets off the bed. “Fine,” Connor says, stepping out into the hall. “But-” His eyes widen as he spots Steph.

She smiles softly. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help.” She insinuates herself beside Connor, looping her arm through his, her lips curving up in a way that Aaron’s sure has half the NHL wrapped around her little finger.

Connor’s no different, his wariness melting away. “I don’t know what happened. This summer was pretty good-” He rambles as they make their way down, Steph making sympathetic sounds the entire way.

“Hang on Davo, I need to grab something here,” Steph says, interrupting the flow of angst. She knocks and opens the door, revealing Sid, Tyler, and Carey.

Connor’s jaw drops. “What-” he begins.

Tyler and Carey flow around him, and Aaron and Sid shove him into the room. “Talk it out, we’ll be here!” Steph calls, closing the door in his face.

“I love it when a plan comes together,” Tyler cackles.

“Are you two okay with this?” Sid asks him and Steph.

Steph grins and leans against the door. “Guarding? Hell yes.”

“We’ll make sure they don’t kill each other,” Aaron adds.

They have to. Everyone’s been waiting for the team to implode and this cannot be the reason they go down.

Jack and Connor might not know it, but the team feeds off their energy. If they get their shit together, the other teams won’t stand a chance.

 

**McEichel**

Connor’s shoulders slump the minute they enter the hotel, like he’s folding into himself and shrinking down as much as he can. Like he can’t stand to have anyone look at him.

It makes her mad. This is not so surprising, not when it comes to Connor McDavid, but this time she’s actually angry at _him_ rather than the media narrative around them. He’s been pushing himself too hard, trying so desperately to live up to the letter on his jersey. As though he needs to carry this team the way he’s been carrying the Oilers.

It’s shown in some of the play, the way he drives himself towards the net like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels.

Jack shifts her gaze away from Connor only to see Aaron looking her way, an eyebrow raised. She nods at him and jerks her head towards Connor, a tacit _I got this._ Aaron nods and changes direction, presumably looking for another room in which he can crash.

Connor doesn’t seem too surprised when she follows him into the room, but he lets out some squeaky little noise as she wrestles him down onto a bed. Hopefully his, but she doesn’t really care if it isn’t. “Jack-? I don’t feel like-”

“I’m not jumping you, dumbass.” Still, she makes a point of settling her entire weight on him, pinning him down because this is serious and she needs him to listen. “I’m telling you to stop acting like this team is the Light Brigade and you’re leading the charge.”

“I-”

But she’s not going to let him get a word in edgewise. She has a feeling that when it comes to Connor McDavid, subtle is not really best and she doesn’t do subtle anyway. “We’re not the scared young team everyone seems to think we are. We’re in the goddamn semifinals. We’ve more than proven ourselves.”

“It’s not about proving,” he protests.

“It’s not?” Jack drawls, moving into his line of vision when he tries to avoid her unimpressed look. “Then why the hell are you playing like this is all on you?”

Connor’s face contorts and it’s so easy to read the emotions as they flicker across. Frustration. Determination. Sheer pig-headedness. And she gets it, she really does. It’s a trait they all share because none of them would have gotten this far without that relentless drive.

But they can’t let it bury them.

And by god, they’re doing _so_ well. The team whose age counts against them, the team that everyone underestimated, yet is still _here_. They’re still in the tournament and the further they go the more it seems like the title is theirs for the taking.

“Babe.” And boy, does _that_ get his attention. “You don’t carry the team. We carry you.”

He goes completely limp beneath her, his eyes wide. God, the way he’s looking at her...her face flames but she holds steady because this is something he needs to understand. They have his back. _She_ has his back.

The soft, awed grin spreads across his face slowly, sparkling like sunlight on water. Jack really can’t handle it. “Sappy, Jack,” he teases softly, his hands coming up to rest on her hips.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffs, punching his shoulder.

“Hey! That hurt. I have injuries here, you know.”

Jack snorts. “Oh yeah? Where?”

He points to his cheek. “I got that stick to the face.”

And before she knows it, she’s leaning down and brushing her lips over the slight redness on his skin. They both freeze a little bit, and the fingers still on her hips curl slowly into her shirt. “Where else?” she breathes.

His eyes never leave hers as he points to his forehead. She obliges him there too, before raising an eyebrow in silent question. She’s going a little cross-eyed from the proximity, but she can’t look away.

Connor points to his lips, one corner quirking upwards.

“Now who’s the sap?” she asks, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> We've written a lot this week because of this ridiculous tournament and the absolute darlings of Team NA. You should come scream about these dorks with us on [Tumblr](http://wonthetrade.tumblr.com)


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